


Make You Lose Control

by silverfoxflower



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multi, Multiple Sex Positions, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29719248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverfoxflower/pseuds/silverfoxflower
Summary: “Let’s play a game,” Ariel said quickly, before Alistair’s embarrassment got the best of him and he backed out of the experience altogether.“We play a lot of games,” Zevran said confidentially to Alistair.“Like … Wicked Grace?” Alistair asked, confused.Zevran shook his head, hiding a smirk. “Not quite.”“This one’s called, Ruler of the Cup,” Ariel said, picking up the decanter with both hands and filling the silver cup, which Zevran still held. “Whoever holds the cup may command the other two to do whatever they wish.”“And would you look at that,” Zevran said lazily, “it would appear that I am its first owner.”
Relationships: Alistair/Zevran Arainai/Female Tabris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Nobody Expects the Dragon Age Smutquisition





	Make You Lose Control

**Author's Note:**

  * For [juliafied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliafied/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this juliafied! I do not believe you specified a Tabris OC so I hope it's okay I used my own!

They looked good together, Ariel and Zevran, like two cats entwining in the sun. Her skin pale and freckled, his warm and dark. No one ever caught them sneaking into each other’s tents, though there was no way they _weren’t_ … with the manner they looked at each other. They were lithe and sly in the way that rogues were, talking Alistair in circles so skillfully that he left every conversation more confused than when he entered. 

(“Are you … and Zevran, you know …”

“I’m sure I don’t know anything.” 

“... _close_?” 

“Hmm. Very.” 

“Oh.” 

“As close as you and I, I’d say.” 

“No, but _we_ aren’t … are we?”)

Was it an elf thing? A rogue thing? Or perhaps it was just him. Next to them, Alistair felt large and clumsy and uncoordinated. They made killing look like a _dance_ , an exhilarating thing of pure beauty while he was knee-deep in the muck, gritting his teeth against the blows to his shield that made his entire body vibrate painfully in his armor. 

Hopeless as it was ... Alistair couldn’t help but dream and watch and _want_.

There she was across the fire, head bent low over Leliana’s lute, suggesting lyrics that made the Chantry girl laugh and blush, eyes bright with longing. Alistair knew he looked the same. 

“My friend, why do you have a look like a … starving man at a banquet?” Zevran asked, lowering himself luxuriously into a seat next to Alistair, stretching every movement so that even in this simple action he appeared as a purring, self-satisfied cat. He turned to Alistair with bright eyes and easy smile, smelling of sweet brandy.

“Did you and I eat the same meal? Oghren’s “roast”?” Alistair tried for humor, “yeah I’d rather go hungry.” He uncapped the flask that Oghren had pressed upon him earlier that night (“to put some hair on your chest, boy!”). If this was the conversation he was going to have, he might as well be drunk for it. 

Zevran laughed, the firelight flickering in his eyes. He cut his gaze to Ariel, who was laughing at her own terrible joke, inelegant and utterly unselfconscious. She caught Zevran’s gaze across the fire and cocked her head, but was quickly pulled back into conversation with Leliana. 

“You wish to bed our dear Warden,” Zevran said casually. 

Alistair sputtered around his mouthful of spirit. Okay, he didn’t know that Oghren’s stuff was _quite_ this strong. He could have _sworn_ Zevran just said-

“She wouldn’t be opposed, you know.” Zevran said, his voice growing deeper. “You need only to ask, my friend.” 

“I don’t believe she is yours to offer,” Alistair said stiffly. He had never begrudged their relationship in that way, or at least tried his best not to, but it didn’t give Zevran the right to be _disrespectful_. Not to Alistair’s … friend. His dear friend. 

Zevran laughed. He had a way of it too, throwing back his head to expose the line of his neck. Shouldn’t assassins be more guarded? “Perhaps I was wrong,” he said ruefully. “Perhaps it was not her you are making your eyes at.” Zevran shifted his shoulders in a subtle manner, and Alistair startled to feel the brush of knuckles along his arm, the warm slide of Zevran’s shin against his knee. He should … he should pull away.

Alistair glanced around, flustered, but Oghren was a snoring heap on the ground. Wynne was cloistered in her tent, Morrigan was … wherever Morrigan was, and Sten was intent on watch, paying no attention to Alistair’s slow unravelling by the fire.

“Perhaps it was me you were looking at,” Zevran said silkily. He pulled away his hand, but Alistair thought he could still feel the heat of his brief touch. “Even so. You need only to ask.” 

Alistair felt his heart pounding in his chest, his eyes caught by the fox-like glint in Zevran’s eye, the slight purse of his lips. He had a witty quip for this, probably. Any time now …

“Ah, it is my shift, I think,” Leliana’s voice startled Alistair. He looked up to see her stand, brushing off her knees. “Would you like to keep the lute, to keep practicing?” she asked Ariel sweetly. 

Poor girl. She was _gone_.

“I’d like that,” Ariel said, her teeth white in the darkness. 

And it was just the three of them.

Alone.

\--

Alistair should have gone back to his tent as well, to lay down for a fevered, disturbed rest. Perhaps comfort himself with imaginings of Zevran’s mouth on Ariel’s breasts, her fingernails raking down his back, their sighs mingling in the still night. He would feel guilty about it after, of course, and avoid their eyes for a few days after. 

But he wouldn’t have to withstand … _this_. 

Ariel was leaning against his arm, her soft, unbound breast pressed warm against him as she explained to Alistair the fingerings that Leliana had showed her. That Zevran had insisted Alistair was _so_ interested in. 

_Fingerings_. Whoever invented that word surely had more than music on the mind. Ariel’s small, clever hands around his own (not dainty, but slender and sure), guiding him, pressing him to the right positions. 

She smiled brilliantly when he struck a chord. 

“That’s enough of _that_ ,” Alistair said, hot-faced and pressing the lute to Ariel’s arms as he drew up his knees to hide his inappropriate interest. “Thanks for humoring me, but I guess teaching me to play the lute is really like teaching a horse … how to play a lute..”

“Just as well,” Zevran said, because he was there too, plastered to Alistair’s shoulder, a warm weight and a breath against his ear that made him sweat. “Our fearless leader wishes to turn us into a traveling minstrel troupe, I think.”

“Why not?” Ariel laughed. “How else will I have an excuse to keep you all after this is over?” 

_Keep you_. Alistair was going to make for his own tent, he really was, but now his brain was frying like an egg on a sizzling pan. 

“Hey,” Ariel said, her voice not clear enough to be innocent, nor husky enough to be knowing, ever in that neutral territory where her words could be easily misconstrued. “Do you still have any of that Antivan brandy, Zevran?”

“Oh?” Zevran asked, in mock-offense. “I thought that you had brought that just for me?” 

“I did, but now that it’s yours, wouldn’t it make _you_ the poor host not to share?” 

“Hm,” Zevran said, “clever Warden.” He clapped a warm hand on Alistair’s shoulder. “This is a rare offer, from me to you. Come to my tent, my friend. I will share with you the finest spirit this miserable country has to offer.” His gaze flicked down to Oghren’s flask, which Alistair was carrying on his hip. “Certainly will wash the taste of some other things out of your mouth.” 

It was clear what he meant, but Alistair had a vivid image of Zevran taking a swig out of a glass decanter just after swallowing-

It was a wonder he managed to put one foot in front of the other on the way to Zevran’s tent. And it was hardly due to the drink. The heat on his face was enough to melt his brain from his ears, really. 

\--

Zevran’s tent was sparse and neat, which surprised Alistair. He had been expecting … lush color, perhaps. Thick carpets and hanging tapestries. 

Instead, there was a bed. A large, neat-looking bed made of packed bedrolls. And many, many chests.

From one of these chests, Zevran pulled the bottle of brandy, a fancy-looking cut-glass decanter with a broken seal. Alistair reached for it and received a scowl.

“Spirit of this quality cannot be _swigged_ like your common barroom swill,” Zevran sniffed. 

Ariel caught Alistair’s eye and shrugged. _Humor him,_ said her smile. 

They lounged together on a wolf pelt, one of many they had to spare after their visit to the Dalish. Ariel was a bit looser here, lying on her front with her feet kicked up. She was smaller without her armor, soft and sly around her edges. His eyes could not help but trace the curve of her spine, the delicacy of her bared ankles in the candlelight. 

Zevran caught him staring, and smiled knowingly, making Alistair flush. 

“Here,” Zevran said, and produced a single silver cup. 

“What’s the point of that?” Alistair asked quizzically. “If there’s only just the one, we’re going to get our mouths on each other anyway.” 

He only realized what he said when Ariel and Zevran looked at each other, then away, laughing quietly. 

“Let’s play a game,” Ariel said quickly, before Alistair’s embarrassment got the best of him and he backed out of the experience altogether. 

“We play a lot of games,” Zevran said confidentially to Alistair. 

“Like … Wicked Grace?” Alistair asked, confused. 

Zevran shook his head, hiding a smirk. “Not quite.” 

“This one’s called, Ruler of the Cup,” Ariel said, picking up the decanter with both hands and filling the silver cup, which Zevran still held. “Whoever holds the cup may command the other two to do whatever they wish.” 

“And would you look at that,” Zevran said lazily, “it would appear that I am its first owner.” 

“Well,” Alistair said softly. He had heard of such games, whispered among the younger templars. An excuse to steal kisses from the maids. He thought that the requests would perhaps not be so innocent, here.

Alistair realized that both of them were looking at him expectantly. 

“Would you like to go first, instead?” Ariel asked, which was very kind. 

“Me? Really?” Alistair stuttered. “... well, I do need a drink.” 

Ariel nodded at Zevran who passed the cup over with only the faintest of pouts. Relieved, Alistair captured it from his fingers and drank deep, hearing Zevran’s gasp of offense and wail of _savor it!_

“And your order?” Ariel asked laughingly, as Zevran wrested the cup from his grasp. 

“Um,” Alistair’s face heated. The brandy tasted heavy and sweet on his tongue. He had heard that Antivan spirits were meant to be light on alcohol, but he could not attest to that truth. Already, the room seemed to be spinning. “Perhaps … perhaps you could kiss each other?” 

Much too innocent of a request. Much, much too innocent. 

Zevran’s eyes were dancing with amusement, but Ariel just smiled, dragging him towards her. For a moment they just looked into each other’s eyes, and it seemed that they were communicating entirely without words. Was that what true love was? Alistair wondered, his chest aching to be the center of such attention. 

Zevran murmured something in Antivan as he slid his knuckle under Ariel’s sharp chin, tilting her lips up to meet his. The kiss they shared was … chaste. At first. Just a light brush of mouths once, twice. Then Zevran’s hands fell to Ariel’s waist and her arms twined around his shoulders and they were kissing with a passionate, playful frenzy. Alistair found that he could not tell whether they were pleasuring or fighting each other, perhaps both, with all the teeth. Whatever the case, when they finally pulled apart, he had to shift in his seat to conceal his inappropriate reaction. 

“My turn?” Ariel asked, and Zevran passed her the cup with a mocking flourish. Alistair could not help but to watch as she took her slow, thoughtful sip, her pink tongue slipping out to wet her bottom lip after. “Zevran,” she said deliberately, “please take off Alistair’s shirt.” 

“With pleasure,” Zevran said, crawling forward on the carpet. Alistair felt his heart pound in his chest, watching Zevran’s slow approach, the flicker of flame in his dark eyes. Zevran paused with his fingertips at the bottom edge of Alistair’s tunic. “ _Just_ the shirt?” he asked mildly. 

“Just the shirt, Zevran,” Ariel said, inclined on one elbow to watch the proceedings with a lazy smile. 

“You have to feel a bit silly, doing this,” Alistair said as Zevran slid his fingers under the cloth, his knuckles brushing warmly against Alistair’s stomach. “I”m, ah, I’m perfectly capable of dressing and undressing myself, despite how clumsy I sometimes appear.”

“But my friend … what is the fun in that?” Zevran asked, and Alistair flinched as he felt the scrape of a nail against his nipple. “Oops,” Zevran said unconvincingly, smirking widely as he pulled the tunic over Alistair’s head. 

When Alistair shook his hair free and opened his eyes, he saw two pairs of cat-like eyes roving over his body. He flushed. He was doing so much of that tonight that he was sure he looked as red as the apples he used to nick from the orchard down the road from the Chantry. As red as his bottom was after receiving his stripes for stealing those apples. 

“I don’t now why you find looking at me so interesting,” Alistair said, ducking his head. “‘S not like I have breasts.” 

“Hm,” Zevran said, and Alistair’s stomach flopped. “Now _that’s_ an idea. Love,” he turned to Ariel, “would you let him put his hands on you?” 

“Why else do you think I’m here?” Ariel said, and lowered her hands to the bottom of her tunic. 

Breasts. Alistair was immediately transfixed as Ariel pulled her tunic over her head, exposing her small, perfectly-shaped breasts topped by dusky nipples, which hardened under his gaze.

"May I?" Alistair asked.

Ariel seemed embarrassed at the question. "You want a written invitation or something?" She climbed into Alistair's lap as Zevran laughed. 

Alistair brought up his hands immediately to stabilize her, his palms sliding across her bare back, his thumbs just grazing the soft outer curve of her breasts. 

Ariel draped her arms over Alistair's shoulders. "Not much for your first time," she said, in her usual self-effacing manner. 

"No, they're perfect," Alistair said, perhaps with too much earnestness. 

“Taste them, my friend,” Zevran said silkily, and Alistair felt his cock jump in his pants. 

“Is that a second command?” Ariel asked. Her breaths sounded like they were coming faster, her soft thighs and tight body making Alistair pant as she squirmed against his lap. 

“Is it?” Zevran asked musingly as Alistair’s control snapped and he pressed his mouth to one berry-hard nipple, then the other, alternating hot, wet circles with his tongue and hungry suction. 

The _noises_ she made, Alistair thought that he could die happy just knowing that he was responsible for those breathy moans and bitten-off expletives. Not to mention her fingers in his hair, twisting and petting, her hips making jerky circles against his stiff arousal. 

When Ariel pulled away, Alistair made an embarrassing whining noise, though he made no attempt to hold her. 

“It’s your turn,” Ariel said, panting lightly, and for a moment Alistair had absolutely no comprehension of her words. 

“I, um,” he said, feeling his tongue like a lead weight in his mouth. “I want to taste you.” 

“Ah, ah,” Zevran said. He looked completely untouched, cool and amused as he sat cross-legged, refilling the cup from the brandy decanter. “The rules are,” he said, handing Alistair the cup. “You may order _us_ to do what you wish.” 

“Ah,” Alistair said, wetting his tongue with a sip of the drink. It seemed like a lot of steps to fall into bed, but what would he know if it, really? “Then,” he cut his eyes to Zevran, then turned to Ariel. “I’d like you to make him moan.” 

At last, a spark of surprise in Zevran’s eyes. Ariel, meanwhile, broke out into a large smile. 

“At your pleasure,” she said, affecting a bow from the waist before crawling towards where Zevran sat. 

“Making me moan, eh?” Zevran asked, smiling helplessly as Ariel’s fingers fell to the front of his braies. She pulled Zevran from his shirt as she rubbed him through the cloth of his pants, and he made no move either to help nor hinder, maintaining his weight back on his outstretched arms, his hips beginning to twitch against the heel of Ariel’s hand as she applied her teeth to his neck. 

The view itself was lovely … _so_ lovely, the twine of their limbs, the half-moon of Zevran’s lashes upon his cheeks, his willing quiescence. The way that Ariel seemed to know his body as only a practiced lover would … it wasn’t long before Zevran was breathing heavily, clenching his teeth to keep in the noises. When Ariel at last slipped her bare hand down the front of Zevran’s braies, Alistair felt it as a touch to his own cock, and the moan that reverberated from Zevran’s mouth was echoed with his own. 

“That was nice,” Ariel said, a pleasing flush on her cheeks. “Are you _sure_ you’re a virgin, Alistair? You’re quite good at this game.” 

“Our sweet knight is untouched?” Zevran asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Alistair. 

“I wouldn’t say _un_ touched,” Alistair said, flustered, “Considering what we were just doing.” 

“Oh, my friend,” Zevran said, tracing an idle hand down the curve of Ariel’s shoulder, “that will be _nothing_ compared to what’s coming next.” 

“Ah,” Alistair said, remembering the cup and somehow was able to pass it to Ariel without spilling it all over the both of them. “...promise?” 

\--

Ariel’s command was an escalation.

Now that Alistair knew that sweet-looking mouth could form such words - _Zevran, I want you to suck Alistair’s cock_ \- he didn’t know whether he would ever again be able to take a command from her without going red as a beet. 

They moved to the bed, Alistair sitting on the edge with his legs spread wide, swallowing compulsively as he watched Zevran kneel before him. 

Zevran’s smile was sharp. Hungry. But his hands rubbing the inside of Alistair’s thighs were warm. 

“Have you ever wanted this with a man?” he asked conversationally. “You can, if you wish, close your eyes.”

“No,” Alistair said, “I mean … yes, I have … thought of men. I … I don’t need to pretend you’re someone else.” And because it felt like the right thing to do, he pet his hand through Zevran’s fair hair, surprised at the softness underneath his fingers. 

There was a flicker of emotion on Zevran’s face, but it was too subtle for Alistair to glean in his inebriated state. And in the next moment, all possible thoughts were obliterated as he felt Zevran making quick work unlacing the front of his braies, and then slender, calloused fingers fishing his cock from his smallclothes. 

His gratified noise should not have made Alistair feel quite as proud as he did.

Alistair startled as he felt Ariel settle in beside him, pressing her soft cheek against his arm in a chaste, comforting gesture. He looked back at Zevran to find that his head was bent over his folded hands, and he was murmuring something in Antivan. 

“What is he doing?” Alistair asked Ariel. 

“I am giving thanks for this meal,” Zevran said, raising his face to grace Alistair with a broad smile before wrapping his fingers around the base of Alistair’s cock and sinking his mouth over its head. 

The suction. The sudden, wet heat. Alistair arched sharply, his breathing growing thin and labored, unable to stop the small tremble in his thighs.

_Maker's Breath._

"You can come if you need to," Ariel said conversationally, stroking a finger over the hot shell of his ear. 

"No, I … I can-" Alistair shook his head. He had heard that it was a shame for a man to spill early, so he'd … trained himself. In the dark, under the covers, bringing himself to peak and denying himself, again and again and again, dreaming of the bride who he would please with his stamina. 

He never thought he would be using it like this, reciting the major roster of Chantry Divines in his head to distract himself from the embarrassing, overwhelming pleasure of Zevran's mouth. 

Zevran, perhaps sensing Alistair's resolve, eased into more of a teasing role, his mouth pulling off to tongue at Alistair's shaft, his dark eyes casting flirtatious glances as his fingers raked through the coarse hair at the base of Alistair's cock, making him shudder. 

"I know this was my request, but," Ariel sounded breathless with eagerness, and Alistair could not imagine for what until she, too, bent over his lap, and now there were two mouths on him, pulling apart his thighs, suckling at his shaft and laving his balls simultaneously. And a wet, filthy kiss around the head of his cock.

Maker, the noises they wrung from him. Alistair would have been embarrassed if he had any ability to think, all of his blood having rushed from his brain long ago. 

His fingers, which had been twisted in the sheets, found their way to the shining, bobbing heads between his legs. Flaxen gold and dark Auburn. He pet them with shaking hands because he could not think how better to portray his pleasure.

Their turns, and the empty cup, were forgotten at this point, and Alistair was grateful for it, as he had not the wherewithal for any more requests. And he had not the imagination for what came next, when Ariel leaned back on her haunches, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and asked in a conversational tone,

"Alistair, have you ever had anything within you?"

Alistair swallowed as he felt the dry pads of Zevran's fingers pet across his entrance, that vulnerable, twitching part of him that he had … never imagined could ache for something unknown.

"No," Alistair whispered roughly. "But I … can I?"

Ariel's indulgent smile said _yes_ , as did her hand on his prick, stroking him as Zevran turned away to retrieve a vial of oil. Ariel's touch was light, only to keep him on edge, but even the sight of her slim fingers, her rogue's fingers so practiced in plucking coins from purses and chords from Leliana's lute, wrapped around his blush-dark cock …

 _Fingerings_ , Alistair thought with a hard swallow as Zevran rejoined them. He had a rogue's fingers too, long and slender, golden-brown in the candlelight, slicked with oil.

He gave Alistair a heated smile as he pressed a kiss to the inside of his knee. 

Pressed his fingers against the place which had never been breached in that way. 

How many different definitions of virginity? Alistair's head spun as he felt the burn of penetration, echoed the heated flush on his face as he released small, embarrassing noises.

They were both praising him, Zevran's smoky timbre and Ariel's husky croon. On his _tightness_ and his reactions, things that should have shamed him but instead made him hotter, as he bit his lip, his toes curling in the sheets. 

And when Zevran’s mouth returned to his cock, when he rubbed Alistair inside with the same rhythm ...

Zevran’s voice, when he spoke again, was hoarse in a manner that scattered Alistair’s thinking. “Because you have been so good, my friend,” he said, “I shall give you what you ask. Alistair, you may taste her.” 

"Does that mean … we have to stop …" 

Ariel laughed breathily. "I don't think Zevran is quite finished with you, in that regard."

Zevran licked his lips. "I'm glad my work is so appreciated."

Ariel gently pushed Alistair into the bed, her palm flush against his chest feeling hot as a brand. He went willingly. Adoringly. His hands reached for her as Zevran continued his wicked work. Alistair's eyes were on Ariel. She had divested herself of her pants and smalls, and was now crawling over Alistair, opening her white, creamy thighs before his fevered eyes. 

"You're red," he blurted out, "down there."

She blinked for a moment, then laughed aloud, her fingers carding through the neatly-trimmed triangle of hair around her sweet, pink quim. "As I can only be," she said, ruefully blowing a strand of her hair - which was in the same Auburn shade - away from her face. "Do you like?"

What a question. Alistair could only blurt a clumsy, _yes, very_ , since Zevran was teasing him again, rolling his clever tongue around the head of Alistair's cock as he added another finger, making Alistair feel so _full_ he thought he might burst.

Alistair opened his mouth, panting haphazardly as Ariel slowly lowered her cunt towards his face.

What was it that Zevran had said earlier? Thanks for the meal? 

Alistair did not know if he was doing well, his tongue felt thick and clumsy on the delicate folds of Ariel's quim, but ah. The taste of her. The smell of her. Musky and dark and sweet, intoxicating as the brandy on his tongue. Alistair thought that he would eat this three square meals a day, if he could. 

"Oh," Ariel said softly, her hips twitching above him as Alistair brought his hands to support her pert bottom, press her closer to his greedy mouth as she tangled her fingers in his hair.

Alistair’s breathing grew ragged as he felt Zevran’s fingers begin a rougher rhythm. Clever, clever fingers. Crooking _just so_ that Alistair cried out, muffled in the wet of Ariel’s cunt. 

“Oh,” she canted her hips back, her blunt nails raking across Alistair’s scalp. Ariel yanked his head close as she came, at the same time that Zevran brushed against that place that made Alistair arch off the bed. 

Alistair spilled in the wet of Zevran’s mouth before he could even warn him. 

Dimly, Alistair spun pack to earth. Ariel had crawled a little down his body, and was curled at his side, panting. 

“I feel a little left out, I admit,” Zevran said. And ah, Alistair was wrong about washing the taste out. Zevran was licking Alistair’s spend off of his lips like he _enjoyed_ the taste. 

“Would you like him to fuck you? Or would you rather he fuck me?” Ariel asked Alistair, in the same tone of voice she used to offer a shopkeeper three shillings for five empty flasks, if he threw in that last elfroot. 

He could no longer tell whether they were still playing the game.

Alistair pictured Ariel laying atop him, her breasts rubbing his chest and the soft of her stomach pressed against his spent cock, the glaze in her eyes as she received her pleasure from Zevran’s thrusts, the way she would moan into Alistair’s mouth.

“I believe, my love, you are a little pessimistic about Alistair’s resolve,” Zevran said, amused, as he trailed a finger up Alistair’s now half-hard cock, making it twitch with sensitivity. “I think, perhaps, he wishes to fuck _you_.”

“Both, I think,” Alistair was embarrassed that his voice broke in the middle. He cleared his throat. “Both … please?” 

\--

“Not fair that you’re always the one who gets to be on his back,” Ariel had chided, and rolled Alistair off to promptly take his place. 

“That’s a constant argument between us,” Zevran said ruefully, as he positioned Alistair above Ariel. “Who gets to be on their back this night.” 

There was too much for Alistair to take in to follow that thought to its conclusion. There was Ariel under him, staring up into his face with her pale blue eyes, her freckles like a golden constellation across her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. There was their position, like a couple on their wedding night. Alistair would be lying if he said he hadn’t had a few fantasies of exactly this scenario, though admittedly there had been more tender confessions and a touch less Zevran (how limited his imagination was, after all). There was Zevran’s fingers, opening him up, softening him for the blunt head of Zevran’s cock. There was the wet heat of Ariel’s cunt, the way she groaned as he slid home. 

Too much. Too incredibly much. 

Alistair shuddered and panted. He knew they were being kind with him, being slow and gentle. Ariel was running her nails across his scalp again, making noises like she was soothing a horse. Zevran was hardly moving, plying Alistair with dirty praise as he pressed kisses to Alistair’s shoulders. Alistair didn’t _want_ them to hold themselves back, but. 

If it felt this good now, he didn’t know how he would handle it if it got even more intense. 

“ _Maker’s breath_ -” he had become one of _those_ cliches, the virgin that spills at his first thrust. But it was Zevran’s thrust, pressing him forward into Ariel’s cunt, and luckily, luckily, his earlier release had taken the edge off. 

From the back: stretched so wide, the edge of pain and pleasure as he took Zevran’s cock. From front: his own prick bathed in molten heat, Ariel’s small, tight body straining against his as she buried her moans in the crook of Alistair’s neck. 

Ariel was unexpectedly quiet, taking most of her pleasure with uneven breath and aching sighs. Zevran was unexpectedly loud, groaning Alistair’s name so full-heartedly that there was no one who would not know what they had been up to the next morning. 

There was a curl of pleasure in Alistair’s chest, being the one to make them make those noises, the one to make Ariel’s thighs shake, and her eyes shine, the one who Zevran confessed, “made him mad with it”, who was “sweeter than brandy”. 

Alistair had been built to serve. Enjoyed serving, so when Ariel whispered that she was close, she just needed him to hang on a little _longer_ …

"Yes," he panted, pressing his forehead against her collarbone and putting everything he had into maintaining his rhythm, their rhythm, without faltering. "Anything," he said shakily, "ask me anything."

"Dangerous words," Zevran murmered, his voice thin. 

The snap of Zevran's hips, the sound of skin against skin. Ariel's short fingernails biting into the meat of Alistair's shoulder, the quake that began low in her belly, but then spiraled to her thighs, her cunt clenching down tightly as she cried out. 

Alistair fucked her through her aftershocks, Zevran's sudden frenzy punching gasps from his mouth with every thrust.

Zevran hissed an expletive in Antivan, then, "prepare yourself." As if there was anything Alistair could do but take it, brace himself as Ariel carded her fingers through the hair at his nape and licked at his sensitive nipples. As Zevran tightened his hold on Alistair's hips, his breaths growing staggered as he ground his cock so deep that Alistair started seeing stars. Which one of them began shuddering he did not know, but when he came, Zevran was holding him tightly, and Ariel was kissing his gasping mouth, and Alistair felt at once that he was shaking apart and held together, so tightly he dared not move.

\--

"Where did the cup go?"

"Hmm, you still need a drink?"

"Well I do feel a bit parched, but … not the brandy. I already know I'll be paying for this in the morning."

"Well. One of the perks of bedding the Warden, my friend. She cannot yank us from bed at the break of dawn if she is also sleeping late." 

"Ha ... that's one way to think of it, I suppose."

"I can hear you talking about me, you know."

"Merely a dream, my love, do go back to dozing." 

"Hmm, but I haven't been properly tired out, I think. I feel fully capable of waking up bright and early …"

Laughter. "Well, Alistair. I do believe our Warden has issued us a challenge."

"... on the other hand perhaps I should get some liquids in me after all."

\--

At last, it was Zevran's turn on his back. 

"It feels good, doesn't it?" Ariel asked softly. She was curled tight at Zevran's side, raking her blunt nails down his trembling abdomen as he spread wide to take Alistair's cock. "He's big, and you're so, so tight."

"Yes," Zevran gasped, and was so beautiful in that moment that Alistair's heart hurt to see it. Zevran's chest shining with sweat, his mouth slick and pink as he panted, the fire of the candles reflected in his dark eyes. 

Alistair shuddered as he gripped Zevran's slim waist and began to thrust, watching Ariel's hand move in the same rhythm on Zevran's cock.

Zevran dissolved entirely into Antivan as he took this pleasure, shaking as he pressed his face into Ariel's hair. Alistair wondered if the words Zevran was speaking were filthy or tender, wondered if they weren't much the same thing as Ariel slipped her tongue into Zevran's mouth.

"Come down here," Zevran rasped, looking at Alistair just when he had all but forgotten himself. 

"Please," Alistair said, feeling Zevran's legs twine around his hips as he leaned forward, capturing Zevran's sharp smile in a kiss. Then turning his head to taste Ariel, as Zevran sucked a lover’s mark to the side of Alistair's neck. 

It was all of them, together, as Alistair completed, as his world went incredibly sharp and bright, his hips stuttering between Zevran’s thighs as they both spilled, hot and messy, in the slick space between their bodies.

\--

 _Keep you_ , Alistair thought. 

He quite liked being kept. 

He thought it would be a one-time thing, forgotten with the morning sun, but when Ariel ruffled his hair with a sleepy smile and Zevran pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder, Alistair knew that he could not stand to leave this behind. 

So. They were rogues. They were elves. They were cats, with their own private language. They were shadows at his heel, making ribbons of enemies that he could but see from the corner of his vision. 

They were his. And he was theirs. For as long as they could be.


End file.
